


Penalty

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Anal Sex, Boss/Employee Relationship, Desk Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Secretaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-05 21:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Ryuichiro’s still on the far side of the desk, but his position now is somewhat different than it was that first day in his role as the company director." Asahina impresses upon Isaka the importance of his responsibilities to the company in a memorable fashion.





	Penalty

The desk in Ryuichiro’s office is a heavy thing, as grand and weighty as the title of director that it comes with. Ryuichiro had admired the smooth-polished surface well before it became something he could claim for himself; he’s gazed at it from the far side of the office, has let his gaze wander across the solid lines of it while it was his father’s, and he spent the duration of more than one paternal lecture imagining claiming the space for himself, of making it his own as surely as he knew he would someday make the company. When he took on his position, one of the first indulgences he took for himself was to come to this office, and push back in the comfort of the leather chair, and take in the view of the room from behind the solid shape of the desk finally turned to his own purposes rather than anyone else’s.

He’s still on the far side of the desk now, still in the same place in the office; but his position now is somewhat different than it was that first day in his role as the company director.

The desk is cool against Ryuichiro’s cheek where he’s pressed face-down against the support beneath him. It’s almost a comfort, given how hot-flushed his body is beneath the weight of what clothes are still covering him, but with his hands bound out of his use at the small of his back he can’t make use of the surface to brace himself or even adjust to get more comfortable against the far edge of the desk, where it’s digging in against the lower edge of his ribs with each forward rock of his hips. All he can do is notice the chill against his skin, the smooth-polished surface now turned to a wholly different purpose than what stacked papers and drafted proposals may make of it, while his body shudders with far more heat than any more appropriate pursuit might elicit from him.

“Ryuichiro-sama.” The voice is from behind him, over the top of his head where he’s bent forward to lie heavy across the support of his own desk; Ryuichiro has no doubt that Asahina is standing straight and steady on his own feet, garbed in as much composure as anyone might find while in the middle of fucking their boss over his own desk. “Are you alright?”

Ryuichiro huffs a breath. With the desk pressing close against his lips the heat of it gusts back into his face like a fog to fill his lungs with the same warmth he has just spent from them. “Are you really asking?” he wants to know. “Or are you just satisfying your own curiosity?”

“Something of both,” Asahina admits. His hands are braced against Ryuichiro’s hips, his fingers spread wide to hold the other fixed in place before him; when he rocks himself forward his cock sinks deep into the other. Ryuichiro has no ability to respond, whether in kind or with protest; all he can manage is to clench around Asahina’s length, which he does, coupling the involuntary tightening of his body with a gust of an exhale that shakes itself to a groan in his throat at the feel of Asahina filling him. “It is not my intention to hurt you, Ryuichiro-sama.”

“Just to punish me,” Ryuichiro says. He turns his head against the desk, twisting as far as he can manage against the support of the surface beneath him, but his hair is falling loose over his face and without his hands free he can’t push it aside. The best he can do is to crane his neck as far to the side as he can and look through the tangle of his hair at Asahina standing directly behind him, his feet braced in the space between Ryuichiro’s splayed-open legs. Asahina looks collected, from what Ryuichiro can see of him; his shirt is still buttoned all the way up to his collar, his tie is still knotted carefully around his neck. Even his jacket is still on; Ryuichiro thinks it might even be buttoned over the belt keeping Asahina’s slacks around his hips. The only point of disarray is at Asahina’s fly, where he’s pulled the zipper down so he can slide his cock free of the restraint of his clothes; and Asahina strokes forward again, tilting his hips into another thrust, and Ryuichiro’s lashes flutter to distraction as he shudders, his body flexing tight in pursuit of some friction enough to satisfy the ache of his full cock hanging heavy and untouched between his open thighs. “_Fuck_.”

“You chose to skip out on the budget meeting yesterday afternoon,” Asahina says, speaking calmly, as if he is no more than reciting facts, as if his cock isn’t working rhythmic heat to fill the tremor of Ryuichiro’s body with aching desire. “I told you it was a vital meeting, with several attendees coming in expressly for that sole purpose.”

“I didn’t feel well,” Ryuichiro protests, but the words come out as more of a moan than he means them to, and he doesn’t try to stifle them back to calm. “I needed some me time.”

“Which is why I found you asleep on the couch next to three empty beer cans when I returned home.” Asahina drives forward with startling speed; Ryuichiro’s back arches, his shoulders coming up off the desk for a moment as his lungs empty themselves to a moan, before Asahina slides back to prepare for another thrust. “Is that what you are claiming, Ryuichiro-sama?”

Ryuichiro gasps for breath to fill his lungs enough to speak. “I knew you would reschedule it,” he says. “That’s what my secretary is  _ meant _ to do. You should be grateful to me for giving you work to keep you employed.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Asahina asks. “I ought to thank you for having to spend two hours yesterday offering apologies on your behalf and coordinating a new time for the meeting?” His fingers tighten fractionally against Ryuichiro’s hips; his thumbs slide to dig in deeper against the other’s back. “You expect gratitude from me as well as all of this?”

“Ah.” Ryuichiro turns his head against the desk. He’s grateful to the curtain of his hair now; it gives cover to the flush at his cheeks and the embarrassed cast of his gaze sliding away from Asahina’s focus on him. “Well.”

“And when I return home,” Asahina continues, speaking with the same inexorable force with which his cock is moving within Ryuichiro bent over before him. “I find my ostensible employer drunk on the couch, wrinkling his suit jacket and insistent on being pleasured as soon as he was awake enough to think of it.”

“It’s  _ sex_,” Ryuichiro protests, rather more weakly than he had hoped to manage. “You would have enjoyed yourself just as much and you know it.”

“Not as you were last night.” Asahina’s hands flex at Ryuichiro’s hips to urge the other’s body angling into a better position; when he comes forward again Ryuichiro’s lashes dip over his eyes and he has to turn his face to stifle the heat in his throat against the desk before him. “You were falling back asleep before I even got your clothes off you. It would have been fundamentally dissatisfying for us both were I to pursue your ill-timed suggestion.”

“So what?” Ryuichiro protests. “So you wait until we’re back in the office and you can take advantage of your boss right over his own desk?”

“That is exactly right,” Asahina says, so immediately that heat tenses in Ryuichiro’s balls with no more than the sound of the other’s voice for persuasion. “I deemed it the most satisfying option for the both of us.” He draws back, almost sliding free of Ryuichiro’s body entirely; when he presses forward again the motion is slow enough that Ryuichiro can feel every inch of Asahina’s length stretching him open as the other’s motion brings their bodies together. Asahina pauses at the furthest point forward, with the teeth of his open zipper pressing flush against Ryuichiro’s bare ass; Ryuichiro can feel the tension in Asahina’s thighs against him, bracing them steady as the hands at his hips lock him still. “Would you prefer me to stop here, Ryuichiro-sama?”

Ryuichiro gusts the air free from his lungs, breathing out against the table hard enough that the draft of his exhale ruffles the fall of his hair around his face. “You’ve already gone to all this trouble,” he says, speaking to the table so the strain of his voice on the words will come out somewhat muffled by the barrier in front of him. “You might as well see it through to the end, from here.”

“I see.” Asahina draws back for another long, deliberate stroke. “So I have your permission to fuck you over your office desk, Ryuichiro-sama?”

Ryuichiro’s face heats, his cheeks burning against the smooth of the desk beneath him; he’s sure Asahina knows he’s flushing, just as he’s certain Asahina feels the reflexive tightening of his body working around the strain of Asahina’s cock filling him. “Yes.”

“With your own belt holding your arms behind your back?”

Ryuichiro tightens his jaw and shuts his eyes rather than going on staring at the texture of the desk. “Yes.”

Asahina takes another thrust, his hands working the angle of Ryuichiro’s hips as he eases himself into the grip of the other’s body as if seeking out the best approach for the in-and-back rhythm of his stroking cock. “I see,” he says again. His hold loosens; his fingertips press to Ryuichiro’s skin, tracing the angle of bone up and along the other’s hip as his thumb draws across Ryuichiro’s back and his fingers trail down beneath the strain holding the other’s belly taut with expectation. There’s a rustle of fabric, a drag of cloth against Ryuichiro’s back as Asahina leans in; when he speaks again it’s lower than before, in a tone so soft it is nearly gentle in spite of his habitual monotone. “And if I wished to make you come like that, Ryuichiro-sama?”

Ryuichiro’s breath gives way, his chest sets free whatever claim to coherency he had made of the air in his lungs. It hardly makes a difference anyway; he can’t imagine any words that would speak better for him than the shudder that runs through his body or the way his cock jerks as if struggling to reach Asahina’s fingers sliding against him. “_Please_.”

Asahina’s exhale is as gentle as a sigh against Ryuichiro’s hair. “Very well, Ryuichiro-sama.” His hand slides down, his fingers curling around to brace at the base of Ryuichiro’s straining cock, and he strokes up in a long pull of savoring friction, working his fingers along the curve of the other’s shaft and up to squeeze delicious pressure to the aching swell of the head. Ryuichiro’s spine arches, his body curving like a bow in response to Asahina’s touch against him, but he can’t gain traction with his arms pinned in the small of his back and his weight pushed forward across the desk before him. The most he can do is to pant, and groan, and strain at the belt Asahina wound tight around his forearms laid together, as Asahina’s fingers stroke into a smooth rhythm over his cock in time with the action of the other’s length pumping inside him. Ryuichiro is clenching around Asahina, his body flexing on tension as his cock jerks with arousal and his breathing struggles over the same, but Asahina is unflappable, as calm in urging Ryuichiro into pleasure as he is in taking on any of the impossible tasks Ryuichiro leaves for him to bear. Ryuichiro can’t find speech, can’t stifle the moans in his throat or ease the trembling in his thighs that makes him grateful for the support of the desk beneath him; and then Asahina’s grip tightens around him, his hold flexing around Ryuichiro’s cock in his hand, and Ryuichiro’s lips form a shape too familiar for him to even have to think of it.

“_Asahina_,” he moans, loudly enough to fill the whole space of the office, and his orgasm seizes him, knotting all his muscles to a moment of helpless tension before spending itself to long spurts of heat that surge through his cock and spill over Asahina’s fingers. Asahina breathes out hard over him and tightens his grip to steady Ryuichiro against the sudden forward jolt of his hips, but the speed of his thrusts just stretches Ryuichiro’s orgasm the longer, pulling arousal up from the deepest parts of him to spill out across Asahina’s hold. He comes, and comes, and comes, helpless to do anything but let Asahina have him, and when he finally collapses to pant hot at the surface of the desk Asahina only frees his hold to return his grip to Ryuichiro’s hip so he can draw the other back onto his length. Ryuichiro’s weight rocks back, urged across the desk by the force of Asahina’s hold pulling him to meet the forward stroke of the other’s hips, and then Asahina exhales hard and comes into Ryuichiro in turn. Ryuichiro feels Asahina’s fingers flex against him, telegraphing the uncontrolled jolts of pleasure through the other’s body before Asahina’s hold goes gentle with relief and they are both left to share the deep, slow inhales of satisfaction.

Asahina eases back after a span of time long enough for him to compose his own breathing. Ryuichiro still feels shaky, sweat-slick and achy with bearing the heat of Asahina’s pleasure as much as his own, but he still groans with the loss when Asahina slides out of him. Asahina takes a step back, retreating to a minimal distance as he collects himself; Ryuichiro lies still over the desk, listening to the sound of Asahina wiping himself clean and zipping his pants back up while he remains spread open over his own desk, his pants fallen around his knees and his belt still binding his hands to his back. It’s only after Asahina has put himself entirely back together that he steps forward to touch a steadying hand to Ryuichiro’s shoulder as he pulls against the buckle holding the belt in place.

Ryuichiro doesn’t pull against the restraint. He lets Asahina unfasten the buckle and slide the belt free of his arms; it’s only then that he works his shoulders to free them of their pressure and reaches to flatten his hands at the desk so he can push himself up. Asahina steps back again as Ryuichiro moves to pull his clothes back up around his hips, waiting with perfect patience as Ryuichiro does up his fly and smoothes the fabric back into place.

“I was able to reschedule the budget meeting yesterday afternoon,” Asahina offers as Ryuichiro is running a hand down the side of his slacks to straighten the crease. “You will need to be prepared for it by next week Thursday. I will see to it that you have the appropriate documentation to review.”

“Thanks,” Ryuichiro says. He holds his hand out and Asahina gives him his belt to fit back into the loops of his slacks. “At least it’s a few days out so I can take the rest of today off without a crisis.”

“You are mistaken,” Asahina says immediately. “You have a planning review this afternoon and several reports are in need of your immediate consideration.”

Ryuichiro looks up to Asahina, who meets the disbelief in his eyes with the blandest expression Ryuichiro has ever seen on his face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Asahina doesn’t even blink. “I am certainly not, Ryuichiro-sama.”

“You just fucked me over my desk,” Ryuichiro points out. “For a  _ half hour_.”

“I recall.”

“My ass hurts,” Ryuichiro protests. “I don’t want to do anything but lay in a hot bath.”

Asahina raises an eyebrow. “I had thought you had more stamina than that,” he observes. “I suppose that means you will be wanting several days to recover?”

“Several…” Ryuichiro scowls at Asahina. “You are  _ not _ denying me sex again, you know how that turned out last time.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Asahina says, and makes a show of looking at his watch. “You should have a quarter-hour until your first meeting. Shall I get you a report to begin working through before you need to go to it?”

Ryuichiro hisses frustration, a show of temper which is unfortunately entirely ineffectual against Asahina’s composure. He goes on frowning for a moment before reaching for his chair to drag it back and throw himself into it. “Fine,” he snaps. “Bring me your damn report, if you care about it so much.” Asahina ducks his head into a nod and turns to retrieve the file from the neat stack of papers on his desk. Ryuichiro goes on scowling; he’s still holding the expression when Asahina comes around his desk to offer the report.

“Slavedriver,” Ryuichiro grumbles. “You had better make this worth my while when we get back home, Asahina.” He draws the report in towards himself and is reaching to flip back the title page when there is a touch against his hair, fingers urging against the strands to smooth them back from his face. Ryuichiro’s eyes widen, he lifts his head to look up, and Asahina’s mouth meets his, the other’s lips finding his as easily as if they were meant to be there. Ryuichiro stares, all thought of anything but Asahina’s mouth knocked right of his focus until Asahina draws back again.

“Yes, Ryuichiro-sama,” Asahina says. “I’ll see to it that I do.” And he turns back to return to his own desk, as careless of Ryuichiro’s shocked stare as he was of the other’s scowl. Ryuichiro goes on gazing at him for a moment, long enough for Asahina to settle himself behind his desk and lean in to begin on his own work; then the weight of the report in his hands draws his attention, and he looks back down with renewed intent as he turns the cover page back.

The sooner he starts on his work, the sooner he can get Asahina to take him back home.


End file.
